Silent Audience
by Gamemakers
Summary: After the war, Johanna is left with a forest of possibilities.


**A/N:** Rated T for suicide.

* * *

Many years ago, the Capitol sent a surveyor to Seven with orders to count every tree in the forest so that they might keep accurate counts of everything they owned. He had done as any reasonable man would, recruiting several loggers to assist him and giving each of them a swath of the forest to tally. He had mastered the forest as the Capitol had mastered Seven, or so he thought. The poor surveyor found his task impossible, for no matter how he defined a tree, there would always be a mere sapling one day that would become a tree the next, and half-a-dozen trees would fall and die as well. Still, the man tried, but eventually, he returned home, tired and defeated. The Capitol could own the forest, but it could not know it completely.

Now, for the first time, she can begin to understand that surveyor's frustration. Not until she began searching for one particular tree did Johanna realize how massive the forest truly was. And, like a liquid, it didn't seem to keep its same shape. She had visited that site at least a dozen times with her father as a child, and when she set out for the first time so many mornings ago, she was certain she knew at least the general area where she would find it. After days of wandering, she has begun to wonder if she will ever find it.

When she looks over her shoulder, Johanna can see the path she's taken, her footsteps clearly outlined in the snow. From here, her path seems almost linear, but from above, she knows it's a series of long, meandering circles. That's not too surprising; she hasn't really gotten anywhere since the war. Without her promise of vengeance, life doesn't have much to offer her besides lonely walks in the woods. She has long since lost feelings in her fingertips, and passing through a deep snow bank has left her with melted snow slushing about in her boots, but Johanna sees no use in stopping. Her mother would have warned that she'd catch cold, but she doesn't have enough time left to worry about that, so she keeps walking. It's only physical discomfort, but for the first time in weeks, she's at least feeling something.

"Where are you?" she asks, and even the wind stops, the entire forest declining to reply. "It's all I want." She waits for another moment but still receives no hint. "Thanks a lot," she mutters under her breath as she heads for home, another day wasted.

* * *

It takes four more miserable days of trekking through the woods, but early on a cold October morning, she finds what she's been looking for. Though the last time she saw that marking, it was almost perfectly at eye level, Johanna now has to crane her neck back to admire it. _CM + AT._ Conrad Mason and Acorn Tailor. Perhaps it is selfish of her to steal them from this spot, but she can't imagine ending it without them. Years of a Victor's life have left her hands soft, and it's been far too long since she used her axe to cut down anything but people. Though, she supposes, that's not far from what she's doing. _Wham. Wham._ Not the steadiest rhythm or the cleanest cuts, but it'll be good enough. Her hands are a mess of blisters and every muscle in her back and neck hurts before she's even halfway through.

The thought of having a family again keeps her going. She was certain, after the war, that the other Victors would keep in touch, maintain the safety net that they had always been for each other. Instead, she has hardly spoken with any of them since she returned to Seven almost three years ago. Johanna's mantle is decorated with a few pictures of Annie's little boy, but she can't remember the last time she and Annie chatted. Beetee has always been so attached to the theoretical world that it's hardly a wonder he's seemingly forgotten there are real people with real problems out there who might want to talk to him. The Twelve bunch is even worse about keeping in touch. Johanna wonders sometimes if they are so involved with each other that they forget she's alive and alone or if they just don't want to talk to her. Either way, the end result's the same.

 _Wham._ This isn't supposed to be about the other Victors; she should be focused on her real family. Her next blow has more power behind it. _Wham._ Snow has paid for what he did, but it's still not enough. _Wham._ She needs her parents now more than ever. _Wham._ She can't go on living like this.

It's then, with blood from burst blisters running down her axe handle and sweating despite the chill in the air, that her plan crystallizes in her mind. She needs them, yes, and she can't stand another day apart. It's quick, violent, brash, and oh so very _her._ Johanna studies the initials carved into the tree for a few heartbeats before rushing home, kicking dusty snow up behind her as she runs.

The old girl's waiting next to her bed, just where she should be. Johanna can't help but grin as she feels the weight of the sawed-off shotgun settle in her hand. There were plenty of weapons sitting around after the war, and it wasn't hard for a young woman who lived alone to convince the new district government that she should keep one for a bit of extra security. The hundred credits she had slipped the clerk probably hadn't hurt either. Johanna checks that she's loaded – not that she ever isn't, but one can't leave things like this to chance – before setting out again. There's no reason to stop and lock the door. She won't be coming back.

With her footsteps clearly marked in the snow, it's simple to find her way back. "Hey, Mom, Dad," she says to the trees. "Glad to see me again?" Johanna can't even conjure up their voices from memory anymore. Hell, things like this always make her realize how long it's been. "Mom? Dad? You ready for this?"

This time, the forest's silence feels like anticipation. She undoes the safety. Some showmanship, a bit of extra flair, is never out of place. "And for my final act, I'm going to disappear!" She smiles out at the audience, and the trees seem to lean in further, waiting for her grand finale. "Ready? Three, two, one –"

She considers adding zero, but decides at the last instant that it would be rather beside the point.


End file.
